It is far too easy to sit in your studio apartment, writing someone else’s wedding vows as your mind flickers to an ex getting married at the exact same moment, and start to worry that this right here might be your life. Pristine white blinds, walls, china cabinet, built-ins that mimic the blank taste in your mouth. You can almost taste the whiteness of it all, without ever licking the paint.
There are an ever-growing handful of people for whom you’ve become an ember of what was once on fire. And it’s not that you wanted to burn for them forever (in fact, it could be argued you weren’t supposed to) but you just wish they wanted your unconditional desire for their happiness. Of course, part of loving is recognizing when someone no longer wishes to be loved, so you glow, little spark, glow, only to yourself but for everyone else as well.
This is your life; it’s just not all of it.